


But It’s Better If You Do

by LilithDeniel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarryinheelsfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 18:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16046216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilithDeniel/pseuds/LilithDeniel
Summary: After a visit to a muggle club that was incredibly more eventful than Harry would care to admit, he wanders home in a pair of 8-inch jet black leather stilettos. Forgotten about for months, he stumbles upon them again during spring cleaning, and things take a rather playful turn of events...





	But It’s Better If You Do

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially written for the Drarryinheelsfest2018 but when I went to submit it apparently I was too late. So I’m gonna upload it anyway and turn it into a lil mini series.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this first chapter.

Harry stared down at his paperwork blankly. Sounds echoed around him, each one seemingly louder than the previous. People talking, laughing, quills scratching on parchment, somebody dropping something far away down the corridor. As simple as they may seem, they were driving Harry insane.

He looked a mess. His hair was messier than usual, greasy in some places and flakey in others. His collar was askew and his tie had been missing for six days now. His trousers hung low because at some point he had also misplaced his belt. And black and blue concave bags hung beneath his eyes, evidence of the fortnight of sleepless nights he’d been living through. The last two weeks had been hell, and Harry had the appearance to prove it. He glanced up at the grandfather clock in the corner of his office, wondering when 15 minutes became such a long amount of time.

He slaps himself lightly on the cheeks and blinks back down at the report on his desk. The letters begin to move around and jumble themselves in different, nonsense orders. Harry comes to the weak conclusion that all he needs is sleep, and that once he returns back to the office on Monday he’ll get through this case in no time.

He gives a deep sigh of relief as he hears the clock finally strike 5, and pushes himself out of his chair. Floating down the hallways and wondering mildly if he’s going to be motivated enough to even buy dinner tonight, he steps into one of the ministry lifts without even glancing at who’s inside.

“Uh... hi?” Harry jumps, turning to lay eyes on the flaming red hair beside him.

“Oh. Hey Ron.” They stand like that for a moment, and Harry jerks briefly, 99.9% sure he just fell asleep standing up. Ron waves a scarred hand in front of the other Gryffindor’s eyes with a concerned look on his face. He scrunches up his nose and sighs.

“I take it you still haven’t made up with Malfoy yet?” Harry takes a moment to consider if shaking or nodding his head would be the appropriate response, but he can’t decide so he settles on a stiff shrug. “I hate seeing you like this, mate. You look almost as bad as you did during the war... What’ve you been eating?”

Harry focuses on the bright lights in the lift as he shrugs once more.  
“Beans, I guess. Canned ones.” He sees Ron visibly deflate in the corner of his eye, but his vision is too blurry to really make out any specific facial expressions.

“You can’t keep going on like this forever.” The red head eyes him carefully.  
“Yeah? Watch me.” Harry snaps.  
“You’re acting like a git. You know what you need?” Harry winces, shrinking back and looking briefly up to meet his best friend’s eyes.  
“Pray tell, Ron. What, exactly, do I need?”  
“A night out.” Harry let’s out a groan witch is cut short with a light slap on his arm.  
“C’mon, mate! It’s Friday! Nev, Seamus and Dean and I were going to go out anyways. We’re gonna go check out those new muggle clubs that just opened up.”

Harry rubs his eyes with his hands and steps out of the lift, heading to the floo as Ron follows.  
“I’m so tired. I just want to go home and get into bed.” Harry offers his friend a smile of apology.  
“Boo.” The red head chastises, before beginning to turn towards his own empty fireplace. “We’ll be at yours at 8. Be ready by then.” He calls over his shoulder. Harry opens his mouth to argue but the Gryffindor is gone before he can object.

Harry’s floo ride home is messy and painful. His mind is elsewhere and he wonders endlessly if maybe Ron is right. Maybe going out actually is the cure to all the pain he’s been feeling since that night. The night Draco left him.

They’d been going out for almost a year then. Harry couldn’t remember who’s fault it was. He couldn’t even remember what they had fought about in the first place. Guilt hit him every time that thought popped into his head. Basically, they’d fought it out, they had both said some rather awful things, but only because they expected it to be over soon. But spite and stubbornness outran their desire to be with each other. Since that Thursday night, Harry had only seen Draco once. In a bookstore in Diagon Alley. It had taken every single fibre of his being not to just run right up to the blond at first sight and beg for him to take him back. Harry now regrets his ability to hold back. At least if he had begged and made a fool of himself there still would have been a 50% of getting him back. Now it was 0. 


End file.
